


over-familiarity

by graiai



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, Clothed Sex, M/M, Minor Gaius van Baelsar/Alphinaud Leveilleur, Size Difference, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22711579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graiai/pseuds/graiai
Summary: Alphinaud wasn’t sure why he asked.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Alphinaud Leveilleur
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	over-familiarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superbolide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbolide/gifts).



> 日本語!Alphinaud doesn’t use any honorifics in SHB when he talks about Gaius. So that’s fun.

Alphinaud wasn’t sure why he asked—even as the words left his mouth, Emet-Selch’s piercing gaze focusing all his attention upon _him_ had him regretting it, the taste of the words vile on his tongue. “Did Gaius know of your true nature?” 

He had spoke often enough of Solus zos Galvus, and separately of Emet-Selch—but the man held his secrets close to his chest, and more than once had spoken of Gaius van Bælsar, the dead man. So perhaps he had known. 

“‘Gaius’,” Emet-Selch echoed, playing with the shape of the name in his mouth. He tilted his head ever so slightly, and his expression only not did not turn incredulous because that was how he ever set his eyes upon the Scions. “Familiar, aren’t we?” 

Alphinaud refused to quail. “Hardly the only one among us, to hear him tell it.” 

“Oh?” said Emet-Selch. His voice and smile were light, seeming unbothered, even _cheerful_ even as his hand shot out quick to claim a vise grip upon Alphinaud’s wrist, his fingers bruising as he pushed Alphinaud backwards against a tree. “And just what has your _Gaius_ told you?” 

Alphinaud’s stumbling words were of apparently no consequence to Emet-Selch, nor the tears already beginning to well in his eyes from too long staring up at him wide-eyed and too afraid to blink. The Ascian loomed, reaching down to grab at the hem of Alphinaud’s tunic. Bunched up, it made for a makeshift gag, and laid bare much of Alphinaud’s abdomen for Emet-Selch’s perusal. 

Perhaps he found Alphinaud’s boots more trouble than they were worth, or perhaps Emet-Selch would simply prefer to have him in such a way that he might watch his face not to miss the moment his tears spilt over—Alphinaud couldn’t speak to the reasoning behind the snap of Emet-Selch’s fingers that had an Ascian’s claw-like nail caps materialize upon them so he might rip Alphinaud’s stockings to shreds rather than shove them down his thighs. The sharp metal tore into Alphinaud’s skin as well as his stockings, Emet-Selch unbothered by the blood coming up from the numerous thin lines where his claws dug into fragile skin. 

Gaius had bid Alphinaud ride him the night preceding the Crystal Exarch’s call. In the long months—now more than a year—since, the bruises he had arrived with had never faded, nor the faint sting with each step he took. 

Emet-Selch raised a single eyebrow to see the marks Gaius left, inscribed blue-black like tattoos upon Alphinaud’s ætheric form: the pads of thumbs digging into the tops of his thighs not even an ilm beneath the protrusion of his hipbones, and long fingers curling around to the backs of his thighs and cheeks. “If Gaius could take me,” Emet-Selch continued, “ _you_ could take him? He’s bigger than me, you know.” 

With the pad of Emet-Selch’s palm flat against Alphinaud’s mons and two of his fingers curled, tacky with blood and clear as the eternal day a _claim_ , his relative size was no reassurance—and the pain was no less great when, to no fanfare, Emet-Selch shoved those fingers inside of him. His nearly-dry fingers dragged rough against Alphinaud’s walls, still tender from a fuck now fifteen moons past, and the tips of his fingers slammed into the mouth of Alphinaud’s womb only two knuckles deep. 

His tears fell in time with the first desperate clench of his cunt around Emet-Selch’s fingers, the hem of his own tunic stopping up his cry. “ _Please,_ ” he gasped, garbled around the fabric in his mouth, and could not himself tell if he meant to beg Emet-Selch _stop_ or _more_. Alphinaud didn’t want it, but some shameful part of him longed for such hard use. 

“You’re growing wet for me,” Emet-Selch noted mildly. “He’s trained you better than I would have thought him capable. That girl of his hadn’t an obedient bone in her body. But—” and he pulled free his fingers, leaving that self-same part of Alphinaud mourning the loss “—you’ve never been taken like _this_ before, have you?” 

Alphinaud barely felt the press of Emet-Selch’s fingers past his rim, distracted away from the present by the fractured, too-vivid memories of what could not truly have been _worse_ than this moment but which his nightmares had been given ample time to build up into something impossibly horrific. For a long moment he could not distinguish the cramping in his gut from memory, could not place the sharp, metallic smell of his own blood, the salt of his tears on his tongue, the bile rising foul in his throat. He could hear himself screaming, but it wasn’t really _him_. 

_He_ had the taste of spit-sodden wool in his mouth, stained all dark for ilms around his lips as Alphinaud bit down on the whimpers Emet-Selch surely sought as he opened him up—carelessly, dry and too quick, but not so brutal as to suggest he did not care for his own enjoyment of the act. The smell of blood was present, but it was faint still, with only the Ascian’s fingers inside. 

And then he was pulling them free, and the bruising grip on Alphinaud’s wrists was abandoned. Emet-Selch slotted blood-stained fingers into the barely larger shadow of Gaius’ hands upon Alphinaud’s hips and lifted him up, ramming his head and back against the tree trunk as he effortlessly positioned Alphinaud with the head of his hard cock ready to breach him. 

“I might consider healing you afterwards, if you’re very good and behave yourself,” said Emet-Selch, steady but loud to be heard above Alphinaud’s whine of pain as he was entered in a single, smooth motion. His hands made their way of their own volition to Emet-Selch’s formal jacket, fingers knotting in the fine fabric as he pushed futile at his chest. “I’m sure you know how.” 

The wool in Alphinaud’s mouth was salty from tears when Emet-Selch bottomed out inside of him, the line of his cock _burning_ everywhere it pressed against. Nowhere else for his girth to go, when Alphinaud leaned back against the tree supporting him, even through the hazy vision afforded by his wet eyes he could see the shape of it distending his abdomen. Alphinaud choked on his sobs, unable to look away from it, watching Emet-Selch’s cock moving inside of him with his thrusts. 

A single finger, curled hook-like and turned on its side, caught Alphinaud’s chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to meet Emet-Selch’s bright eyes. “Mm,” he said, an utterly feigned thoughtfulness, “I think you can do better than _that_ , boy.”


End file.
